Akash is a tiny little Bangladeshi curry house on the Edgware road, just opposite the Little Venice canal. It's been there since before I was even born (mid 70's?), and is a real golden oldie. If Akash were a record, then it would have to be something like a 12 vinyl recording of Led Zepplin's 'Stairway to Heaven'. A timeless classic.
If you're a Little Venetian like me, and you're reading this, then you probably know it all already. But for those of you who are yet to be furnished with this invaluable little bit of information, please read on
Hidden under what looks like a staircase leading to a first floor block of flats, lies a miniscule wooden veneered playhouse-style front of a door (and one window), that is the entrance to Akash. It's hardly noticeable. You'd probably notice it if you were walking on that side of the road, southbound towards Marble Arch; but other than that, driving past it or even being on the other side of the road, renders it pretty much invisible to the naked eye.
It is a true local, in every sense of the word. As you enter into this oasis of calm, what strikes you first is the timeless tranquility of the atmosphere inside. This is in real contrast to the hustle and the bustle of the nonstop traffic outside on the Edgware rd. It's like you've stepped into another world, a peaceful world. Inside, the room is tiny, resembling that of an airplane cabin aisle or something similar, with booths to the left, and free standing tables to the right. The booths house four people, and are sectioned off neatly by lovely, ornamental, carved-wood, trellis-like palisades, which give you a nice sense of privacy but also enable you to see through them at the same time. We always go for the booths. In the background is a constant chiming of what I guess is supposed to be classic Indian (subcontinental Asian) indigenous music? It's like a soft 'ping ping ping' type of sound, that is both relaxing and appetite-inducing.
The real forte of Akash, is its consistency; that being the ability to serve you good curries of exactly the same quality, all year round, year in year out. You never have the misfortune of eating a dud curry in here; it's always the same. Always. There's a little bit of trumpet-blowing, decorating the wall next to the counter, with photographs of the main chef receiving numerous awards for best cook etc, coupled with various signed pictures of famous people, notably 'Lulu' and the late 'John Inman'. Apparently someone * cough * requested his picture to be taken down, in light of Johns recent departure, which I think is totally unfair. It's these little touches that bring a real sense of nostalgic character, neighbourly community, and individuality to these types of local eateries.
If the consistency of quality food is a forte in Akash, then the price of the food has to be the mainstay. I'd hate to use the word 'cheap', being rather fond of this place, because that word can carry negative connotations. So instead we can call it 'unbelievably affordable'. I've lost track of how many times I've ordered a massive takeaway, only to find myself standing at the door, frowning down at the inconceivably inexpensive bill, then saying to the delivery man something like you sure you haven't left anything out? or Jesus Christ, that's a bit cheap innit? or wowzers, that's certainly good value for money here, have a tip etc. You can basically fill up four ravenous stomachs with a twenty pound note.
THE FOOD
The menu is straight forward, with all the classics lined up in an orderly manner, categorized clearly in the appropriate sections. The chicken samosas are scrumptious, served piping hot, with a tasty meat and veg filling, wrapped up in a crisp golden pastry. They look like giant won tons. The onion Bahjis are huge balls of interlaced deep fried onion, both crispy and juicy at the same time, with a lovely golden colour. They used to do a mouthwatering Saag Paneer (a fried spinach dish with melted cheese mixed in) with really gooey cheese; but lately they changed the cheese to some sort of hard cheese, which really doesn't melt, which is a bit of a disappointment for me. I always order the chicken Korma, which comes in a lovely creamy sauce, which to my liking, is perfectly balanced with cream, spices and coconut (I think? I swear there's some almond in there too) and contains six or seven big chunks of chewy chicken meat. I always get a boiled egg in mine; it's a bit of a ritual, which the manager there has become accustomed to over the past twelve years. I don't even ask for the boiled egg anymore, and am always pleasantly surprised to see it sitting right there in the middle of the pot amongst the chicken cubes. The Tandoori chicken is a bit lean (would be nice to have a much thicker leg/thigh, but I got a funny feeling this dry cooking style reduces the water content, and so is meant to be like this) but comes nicely seasoned with a red coating of the spice. The Pilau rice is fragrant, read more
